Nothing Newsworthy
by thatmasquedgirl
Summary: Alternate universe. *Oliver has a lot of problems. But the most irritating one is an online journalist who doesn't know when to quit.* An AU fic that shows another way Oliver and Felicity could have met. Based on a Tumblr askbox prompt. Gift to all of my Tumblr peeps for 100 followers. :) Thanks, all! Complete.


**Title: Nothing Newsworthy  
Word Count: 4441**

**Disclaimer: I don't own Arrow. If I did, I wouldn't be writing AU fanfiction.**

**Notes: **So, as a special gift for 100 followers on Tumblr, I decided to go ahead and write an Arrow fic in celebration. I gave everyone on Tumblr the opportunity to leave a fic prompt in my ask box, and I received a crazy number of amazingly good ones. This, however, was the one that instantly gave me an idea: "How about this for a fic prompt: AU Oliver meets Felicity in the middle of one of his missions. He thinks he's going to rescue her, but she ends up saving his butt b/c of her mad skills." A dear Nonnie decided to go ahead and give me this, but I'm not sure if this looks like what they wanted; I had to do a bit of a build-up because, well, AU needs a solid build. So, here goes! :) Reviews/comments are awesome if you have the time, but if not, thanks for reading! :)

* * *

Oliver Queen has had problems before, but he thinks _this_ one might take the cake. Sure, he's had some family drama since he's been back—the typical chastising from his mother, and the apparently new drug use and bad choices in romantic interests from Thea. Then there's the new development of Laurel, his ex-girlfriend, dating Tommy, his best friend—Oliver doubts he'll know what to think about that one. Then there's the general adjustment period from being back from the island, trying to fit his new life into his old one, but it's not as difficult as he previously thought. And then there's his new role as the hooded vigilante known to the papers as "the Arrow," a ridiculous name given to him by one particularly dogged, sharp-tongued journalist. And _that_ is the problem he doesn't quite know how to manage.

Because he's never met anyone quite as stubborn as Felicity Smoak.

Technically, they've never met, but she's become a constant source of irritation. Somehow, she knows exactly where he's going to be, and she has the uncanny habit of showing up to snap a few photographs and pull out some of the best stories in the newspaper business right now. She has a very sarcastic, cynical, and witty style that apparently has kept several local papers in business after the Internet news boom.

From research he's performed, he knows that she helped their news work with apps, downloadable copies, and websites. After that, her degree in Computer Science from MIT didn't seem so out of place. She apparently started out with a blog she ran in her spare time—while she worked at Queen Consolidated, of all places, in the IT Department—and then the newspapers realized the girl could write. Six months after her first article was published, she quit her job at QC, presumably because her one hundred and three articles earned her more money than her actual occupation during that time.

He's tried to figure out if he could get her fired to protect her somehow from the villains that follow him, but she's thwarted that, too. When Oliver had been arrested for being the Arrow, she wrote, "In a surprise turn of events, detectives in the Starling City Police Department arrested Oliver Queen for crimes related to the Arrow. They issued no comment on the matter, but this writer interprets that to mean that officers have discovered that the Arrow has been performing his duties while inebriated and otherwise intoxicated, in between bouts of flagrant philandering." Moira hadn't needed much convincing to threaten the papers with lawsuits for defamation of character, but they quickly found that she's freelance, so the paper isn't responsible for her as an employee. Between that and the best lawyer in Starling City telling them that they probably couldn't win a libel suit, he had to let it go.

He regrets it now as she sees her on the ground below, a fairly expensive camera in her hands as she snaps pictures of the criminal the Arrow has left in the empty lot. He's tied to a keep-out sign on the chain link fence around one of the shady warehouses the Bratva works out of. Smiling as he catches her in his trap, Oliver drops down from the building into the lot, stalking up to her. She's almost done by then, pocketing the camera and admiring the scene for a moment.

He's inches from her when he sees her tense, and it's that motion alone that keeps him from being hit by the business end of whatever she pulls out of the pocket of her purple peacoat, catching her wrist when she turns. He pushes her back against the fence, using both hands around her wrists to hold her wrists above her head. He gathers her wrists in one of his hands and uses the other to push her against the fence.

The girl nearly kicks him where it counts, but he blocks her knee with his. Not wanting to give her an opportunity to repeat the action, he presses himself flush against her, his face separated by mere inches as he looks down at her. It's only then that he's able to examine her weapon, surprised to find it's a pretty painful, high-grade taser. "Is that how you greet the man who's been selling your articles for the past three months, Miss Smoak?" he asks her, his voice synthesizer already switched on, throwing his voice into an unnaturally deep pitch.

"If you want my camera," she says flatly, bypassing the question altogether, "take it. Like your less-than intimidating stare, it's not going to stop me from writing a story." She smiles, which immediately makes him wary. "And, besides, you're just adding to it, anyway. Not that anyone will believe you had me up against a wall—" She cuts of immediately, groaning, and it takes Oliver a moment to register why. "I did _not_ mean it like that—or as a suggestion. I'm a reporter, not a rock band groupie with a VIP pass."

"You're not my type," he says flatly, and it's the truest statement he's made in a very long time. She truly isn't because she's not tall with dark hair and an award-winning smile. No, Felicity Smoak is a bookish blonde, with her hair pulled back in a no-nonsense ponytail and a pair of square, plastic-framed glasses over her blue eyes. And he's fairly certain that garish, fuchsia shade of lipstick is glowing in the dark.

She rolls her eyes. "That's your bad luck, pretty boy," she retorts, completely undaunted. She doesn't look scared or awed, but simply bored with the whole exchange, as if she meets an arrow-wielding vigilante every day of her life. "But I don't think you decided to pin me up against the wall so we could talk about your poor tastes in women." She rolls her eyes again. "God, why does everything I say sound dirty? You knew what I meant."

He blinks twice, a little stunned by the turn of events and her penchant for accidental innuendos. This wasn't how it was supposed to go. He was supposed to growl something intimidating to keep her out of his way, and then he was supposed to leave her, shivering and awed, before running off to write another damn article. He tells himself that his admiration for her has nothing to do with the way she stands up to him or calls him a hero in her articles, but instead because she's not sniveling or crying in his presence. "Stop following me," he growls at her, finally trying to articulate those thoughts. He leans in closer, grateful for the mask that provides him with some extra anonymity.

She doesn't even flinch, just leans in until he thinks she might kiss him. "Give me one good reason," she says slowly, and he can actually feel the breath leave her as she speaks.

"You're going to get yourself killed," he growls again, this time in anger. "The men I pursue aren't above using innocents to lure me out in the open. One of these days, Miss Smoak, you're going to find yourself at the point of a gun for this story, if you don't back off now." He releases her then, if only to prevent more innuendos from spewing from those lips, but he makes sure to keep the taser out of her hands in case she decides she needs to use it.

"First of all," she says, dusting off her peacoat, "if you call me 'Miss Smoak' one more time, I'm going to scream. You're the Arrow, and I'm the reporter who's been following your story for the past three months. I think we're a little past formalities." She crosses her arms after making a big show of rubbing her wrists, though he knows he didn't harm her. "And, secondly, you shouldn't worry your pretty little hood about me. I can take care of myself." Something dark flickers across her features. "God knows I've been doing that for a long time."

He doesn't comment because Oliver, of all people, appreciates the power of having secrets. "I don't doubt that," he admits, "but you've never faced people like these before. They'll use you as bait to draw out the sharks, and kill you the moment you cease to be useful. I will not have your blood on my hands."

She leans against the chain-link fence, crossing one leg in front of the other. "These guys sound like that agent they tried to hook me up with," she retorts. "And it's not your call. I make my own choices, and those are _not_ your fault. And you're an arrogant fool if you think that you control me." She turns, starting to walk off, but she says over her shoulder, "See you at the next one, pretty boy."

"Hey," he calls, surprising himself when he tries to stop her. She turns, staring at him from across the empty space. He walks up to her, handing her the taser before extending his hand. She stares at it with narrowed eyes, but finally shakes it. "Try to keep up, Felicity," he says finally, already regretting the decision. But he knows he can't stop her, and part of him really doesn't want to try.

Her eyes widen for a very long moment, and she looks as though she's afraid to believe it. "You're serious," she says quietly, but it isn't a question. It's a hope, a longing—maybe even a prayer. If there's one thing he understands about Felicity Smoak, it's that look on her face: it's the look of someone wanting to hope, but afraid to—someone who's been disappointed too many times by too many broken promises, but who _wants_ to believe in the goodness in the world.

He hands her the phone. It's one he's been saving for an opportunity with Laurel, but, well, it's better Felicity has it, if they're going to be working together. And he can always get another one, if he finds he needs it. "Take this," he answers, his voice perhaps a little too stern, judging by the look she gives him. "It's encrypted, in case you need to talk to me."

She holds it gingerly a moment before putting it in her pocket, an oddly calculating expression on her face that he doesn't quite like. He can tell when the realization finally kicks in for her, because she offers him a brilliant smile, exposing teeth. "Oh, my God, thank you so much!" she says, but it's practically a squeal by the end.

In a ridiculously spontaneous, unexpected gesture, she puts her hands on either side of his head, and he can't even react before two very fuchsia lips are pressed against his mouth. It only lasts a second, and then she turns crimson as he tries to remember why in the world he agreed to this mess. She sputters for a moment before saying, "Oh, God, I—" She puts a hand to her face. "I can't believe I—" She doesn't complete that sentence, either, but instead manages an awkward chuckle. "It's just exciting, you know? I'm in with _the Arrow_, the hero of Starling City." He probably shouldn't like the ways she calls him a hero, but he does, even if he thinks she's wrong. "Every reporter in this city right now wants to be in my shoes, to have this opportunity, and—"

"Felicity," he interrupts gently because he needs to. Her mouth is taunting him now, and he thinks that if she says one more word tonight, he might do something he'll regret later. His eyes fall to her shoulder, and that seems a safe enough place for him to touch. He lets his hand fall there loosely. "Be careful. I'll be in touch." And with that, he leaves the biggest, single source of trouble in his life.

He never thought he'd see the day when he'd prefer to face down an army than a particularly nosy blonde, but it has arrived.

* * *

Oliver sighs as he waits on the rooftop of the suggested meeting building, waiting for Laurel to arrive. He doesn't understand why she's so insistent they meet; she's been hesitant to call for help ever since Iron Heights, even if she did take the opportunity when Johanna's brother was murdered. But he thought that would be the last he heard of her. Apparently, though, Laurel has other ideas.

He was previously alone in his base of operations when Laurel called to suggest a meet. He had initially hoped it would be Felicity, and he almost didn't answer when he realized it wasn't. He's fairly certain that Felicity is enjoying a nice night of relaxation at home, after she joined him for that last mission.

He asked her that night to keep up, and she has proven time and time again that she's easily capable of running at his speed. She worked with him during the Christmas hostage situation, and she was the one who guided the hostages to safety. She had insisted that she wanted to be there, and he had zip-lined into the building with her. Admittedly, she had been good help; he turned her loose with his butterfly knife to cut the hostages' bonds, and he had focused his attention instead on the Dark Archer. And even after he was defeated by the mystery man, Felicity helped him get out to John Diggle, cementing a friendship between Oliver's two vastly different partners.

During Laurel's mission to look into Danny de la Vega's murders, it was Felicity who picked at the truth until it came out. He had met her at the firehouse while doing some investigating of his own as Oliver Queen, and, while she had prickled and insulted him (he believes her exact words were, "feckless lothario," both of which he had to look up later), she did seem to appreciate his solid questions (that one earned him a thoughtful, "I guess you have a journalist in your soul after all, Queen."). And, while at Verdant doing a piece on the Firemen's Ball, he had actually convinced her to question the fire chief with him, and she actually seemed to appreciate that. He thinks he might be making progress with both of his identities.

Then, she had shown her tech skills by breaking the encryption on the encrypted drive Oliver took from Blackhawk Protection Squad during those armored truck robberies, and she had even taken Oliver's side on the argument about Diggle's former CO, Ted Gaynor. "Look," she had said after keeping the two men from starting a fistfight, "I'm caught in the middle here. Pretty boy over here seems to think his book is right for whatever reason, but Digg, I know that Ted Gaynor has been a loyal friend to you. So, I'm the only one without a personal interest in this case, which means we're doing it _my_ way. I'm not going to let arrow boy over do his usual gig, but we're going to look into this until I'm satisfied—one way or the other. So polish your smile, Digg—you're going to a job interview." Only then did she turn to Oliver. "Dust off your arrows—you're going to make sure Gaynor sees our boy as the best candidate for the job." Somehow, they had managed to take Gaynor down without a major fight, and Oliver gives that credit to Felicity.

But the last mission had given her more than she could handle, and it was Oliver's fault things didn't go well. She entered their base talking about one of her favorite informants, Sin, and a tip she was given about a new drug ravaging the Glades called Vertigo. She asked Oliver for help, but he had declined, informing her that he didn't take cases to accelerate her career. She had investigated on her own in the meantime, and Oliver had changed his mind when Thea nearly killed herself while driving and high on Vertigo. By the time he had figured out Felicity's plan to meet the Count, the mysterious manufacturer of the drug, it had already gone south and the Count left her with a parting gift of his drug in her neck. Oliver rushed her back to base, but it was an interesting experience with the drug in her system, lowering her inhibitions. She said some odd things that they both silently agreed never to discuss again (mostly her innuendos and highly inappropriate thoughts on how he wears green leather, but, well, he also now knows more about Felicity's love life than he ever wanted to).

It's more a sense than a sound that snaps Oliver out of his thoughts, and he turns to find a very grave-looking Laurel staring at him. "What's wrong?" he asks her. She doesn't look injured, but that doesn't always mean anything to Oliver; he's made a career out of being injured and hiding it well.

She holds out the arrow with the recording device that he left at Cyrus Vanch's house last night, when he investigated the criminal on Laurel's behalf. He only took the case because he doesn't like criminals like Vanch roaming free on a technicality, but he's starting to learn that anything involving her is a mistake these days. With dread, he takes the arrow held out to him, and she says, "My father gave this to me because he found it at the scene of a break-in. He says he can't help you directly, even though he wants to." She swallows. "Something about a mole in the department. Anyway, he thought you needed to know about her."

The feminine pronoun is what sets him on edge, and his first thought goes to his family. He takes a deep breath before pressing the playback button on the arrow, and the first thing he hears is a very memorable voice insulting her captor's mother, her word choice... _colorful_, to say the least. Some words he's never heard before, while others he's heard a handful of times, out of the mouths of drunken soldiers on the island. There's the resounding sound of a slap, but it doesn't shut her up. Of course not—Felicity is too loud-mouthed for her own good, so instead of doing the sensible thing and staying quiet, she takes the opportunity to call him a rotten bastard.

"Your reporter friend is quite a firecracker," a casual, demented voice says on the recording. "Pretty, I guess, if you like blondes. And I do, very much." A feminine laugh sounds in the background, possibly some female acquaintance of Vanch's. The last thing Oliver wants to hear is some criminal calling _his_ partner pretty, especially in that tone. It sets his teeth on edge, but his jaw unclenches when Felicity tells Vanch to go screw himself. "Anyway, whoever finds this, make sure the Arrow gets it—and do it fast. If not, he's going to find pieces of his... _charming_"—he says the word ironically, which makes Oliver's fist clench around the arrow—"girlfriend all over this city at sunrise." He chuckles, but there's no humor in the sound. "I know it's a drastic measure, but I'm a huge fan." The message clicks off then, and Oliver hands it back to Laurel quietly.

"She's important to you, isn't she?" Laurel asks quietly, and Oliver hasn't seen her this upset since Thea let slip Laurel and Tommy's relationship. "This girl, she's part of your team? And you're...?" She trails off, and Oliver can only figure that she's curious enough to ask the question, but afraid to know the answer.

"And _I'm_," he answers, using her prompt to finish his own sentence, "about to teach Cyrus Vanch why he shouldn't threaten me."

* * *

Oliver knows he made a mistake by the time the fifth arrow flies. He didn't take the time to call Diggle, and he didn't stock extra arrows in his quiver as he probably should have. Usually, when he's going into an ambush, he takes extra arrows with him, but his only thought was to protect Felicity from the criminal who decided to kidnap her only to make a point. Part of his anger is aimed at Vanch, for kidnapping her; himself, for being blinded by his desire to save her; and just slightly at Felicity, who didn't listen to him the first time they met. He was certain then that someone would use her to get to him eventually, and Oliver berates himself for allowing that to happen.

A few more arrows fly into their targets, and in a few moments, he's dropped most of the guards. The lights are off in the house, and he steps in quietly, using his last arrow on a thug with a machine gun before he can use it. He isn't surprised to see Cyrus Vanch standing in the expansive kitchen, Felicity tied to the chair with ropes across her shoulders and middle, though her hands are free at her sides. Next to him, a woman stands, the one who must be the one who laughed on the recording.

Oliver expects Vanch to deliver some sort of warning, but the sound of of a pump-action shotgun behind Oliver tells him what he needs to know. "I think it's time to drop the bow, Hawkeye," Vanch says in that sickly sweet voice, and Oliver sees red for the second time that night. Nothing good ever happens when he finds himself that angry.

He drops the bow, seething, wanting nothing more than to apologize to Felicity for screwing this up. But then he sees the glint in Felicity's hand, and knows what it is. He barely hears the command of "Ventilate him," before he throws his butterfly knife into the man behind him, and he watches Felicity cut through the last of her ropes with the switchblade she carries. Before Oliver can take care of the problem that is Cyrus Vanch, she throws her taser into his jaw, and, deciding she can handle herself, he retrieves his knife. "I love a guy who can commit multiple homicides," she spits, clearly mocking something Vanch said before, "but can't block a taser." Vanch's female associate decides to join the fray, grabbing Felicity by her ponytail. But before Oliver can interfere, Felicity knocks her off with a pretty impressive right cross.

Oliver carefully examines her, taking his chin between her fingers as he examines the very red, swollen spot on her cheek that he didn't notice before. He brushes his fingertips across the spot, and he winces more than she does as he realizes it's where Vanch must have slapped her. He wants nothing more than to put a few arrows through him. Still he bottles it up. "Are you all right?" he asks quietly, trying to keep that anger from showing through.

Before she can answer, another hired gun comes around the corner, pistol raised in the air. A shot fires, but a moment before, Felicity pushes Oliver out of harm's way. He throws his knife mid-fall and hears it strike home. He lands hard on his back, but the breath rushes out of him when Felicity lands atop him. He expects her to flush, babble awkwardly, and scramble away, but she simply laces his fingers over his chest, laying her chin atop them. "So," she starts, drawing out the word, "when were you going to tell me that, under all this leather, you were Oliver Queen?" It's so casual that it takes him by surprise, and then he realizes his hood fell back when she pushed him. The mask wasn't much of a disguise on its own, so he isn't even surprised that she was able to make the small leap. When he opens his mouth but nothing comes out, she says, "I think I owe you an apology."

He turns of the voice synthesizer because there's really no point now. "I thought 'feckless lothario' fit well," he replies, teasing, and he's surprised to hear that tone in his voice. Oliver only uses that tone when he's flirting, and he doesn't think it's a good idea to flirt with her. When she turns crimson, he continues, "Are you going to lay here all night?"

She seems to think about that question for a moment before saying, "I don't see any reason why I should. I like laying here. It's almost like you're at my mercy—makes me feel powerful to be on top." Her voice takes on an odd tone toward the end, and then she groans just like she always does when she makes an innuendo. "I think there's something wrong with my brain to make me do this all the time. Seriously, I've had this problem since I was fifteen, and, even though the immature giggles have stopped, it's still—"

It's the adrenaline, the fear of losing her, the giddiness that accompanies the survival of a near-death experience, the way her mouth curls around words in a provocative way that makes him do it. A sudden movement flips their positions, with him hovering over her, and her eyes widen in surprise and something that is very much _not_ fear. "I think you've taunted me enough for one night," he says, and then this time, he's the one to start the kiss. As soon as his brain catches up to his actions, he expects to be pushed away, but she returns it, her hands wrapping around her neck. The kiss isn't quick or chaste, like the last one. It's a little rough and intense, but she doesn't seem to mind it. He doesn't know how long they stay like that, but he finally stops when they hear police sirens closing in.

He rises from the floor before offering her a hand up, and Felicity bites her lip before pulling Oliver's hood up over his head. He can't resist asking her, "So, how much of _this_ one going to make the papers?" He gives her a knowing lift of his mouth, mercilessly teasing her. He can't help it; something about Felicity Smoak brings out the Oliver he might have been if the island hadn't happened, if he had found her five years ago. But then he thinks that version of himself wouldn't have appreciated the wit, charm, and loveliness that she radiates. Sure, Felicity is charming, but she also understands the pain that he's come to know so well.

She stands on her toes to place a soft kiss at the corner of his mouth, not lingering this time. "Well," she says finally with a mischievous glint in her eyes, "I hate to break it to you, but this evening has been nothing newsworthy."


End file.
